


Fondness and Spite

by NervousAsexual



Series: Whumptober 2019 But It's Not 2019 Anymore [4]
Category: Thief (Video Game Original Series)
Genre: Denial of Feelings, I'm not even sure anymore, Seizures, Vomiting, disorientation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:49:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27200686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NervousAsexual/pseuds/NervousAsexual
Summary: Artemus has a difficult time keeping his inner balance as he tries to prepare Garrett for the reading of the prophecies.
Relationships: Artemus & Garrett (Thief Video Games), Artemus & Orland
Series: Whumptober 2019 But It's Not 2019 Anymore [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1903825
Kudos: 7
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	Fondness and Spite

**Author's Note:**

> Whumptober prompt #25--disorientation

When morning came Artemus listened to the acolytes as they prepared for their day. The rustle of robes, the whispers, the shuffling of half-awake novices out the door, it was all vaguely familiar. It made him think of his own time as an acolyte and smile.

A guard came to fetch him not long after the acolytes left--Orland demanded a few words.

"Caduca will read in one hour," the first keeper told him.

"I doubt that is enough time," Artemus returned. "Even if he is awake by then he won't be fully cognizant."

"And? That is no fault of mine."

"He will feel you cheated him. You know that. I might be able to get him around by evening with the proper potions."

"He was told that once he returned with the artifacts he would be allowed to hear the prophecies.That is all he was promised, and he is getting that much."

"Will you at least speak with Caduca? She agreed to this. I am sure she would understand that this is something Garrett could not have prevented."

"You will say nothing to the Interpreter! She has more important concerns than a single thieving deserter who is very possibly the Brethren and Betrayer."

The sharpness of his voice startled Artemus. He watched the anger on Orland's face. "What a pair we make. One's fondness matched only by the other's spite."

The anger flickered and was gone. "I am not..."

"No? I'm the spiteful one, then, and you are fond."

"What are you talking about?"

"It must be one or the other. Why else would the elders have sent us together to the trickster's mansion? The Keeper council certainly wouldn't have sent me alone."

"That was a long time ago." Orland sighed and returned to his writing. "Artemus, I have tolerated your fondness for Garrett thus far. Do not make me regret that."

There was so much more to be said but it had been unspoken for all these years and he doubted even the Dark Age would change that. He excused himself.

Just as his hand touched the door handle, Orland spoke. "Artemus? Now that I think on it, Caduca has mentioned how much reading the prophecies has taken out of her. I will ask her to postpone her reading until after the noonmeal."

"Thank you, First Keeper Orland."

"And Artemus?" Orland asked as Artemus once again turned to go.

"Yes?"

"This is a favor to you, not the thief."

"Of course." He gave Orland a slight nod of his head. "Balance."

"Balance," Orland said softly.

* * *

The second time was easier. Artemus cut the knots binding his wrists to the bed while Garrett was still unconscious, so when he did he was able to try turning away.

"You are in the keeper library," Artemus told him quietly. "You are safe."

Garrett looked in his direction before fully processing the sunlight coming in the window across the room. He winced, pressing the backs of his wrists into his eyes.

"Do you remember what happened last night?" There was no verbal response, but Garrett turned onto his other side, curling in on himself with his face to the wall. "You came to Terces Courtyard. You brought me the artifacts from the pagans and Hammers. You seized. After that you were brought here. To the keeper library. I assume you will want your cloak."

Garrett lay there a moment longer, breathing heavily. "What...?"

"Your cloak. I apologise--I took it from you in Terces Courtyard, just as a way to keep your head from hitting any rocks. The hand..." As Garrett folded his arms over his chest the bruised and swollen hand moved into view and Artemus winced. "Your hand is my fault. I didn't think of it at the time."

He took the cloak from the back of his chair and spread it loosely around Garrett's shoulders, tucking the side over him. He was shaking, Artemus realized, and for a moment panic rose in his heart--not another seizure, not this soon--but without a break in his trembling Garrett reached up and pulled the hood of the cloak low over his head and face. Despite the seriousness of the situation and his own thumping heart Artemus had to smile--what an incredibly Garrett thing to do. The actual reason for the action wouldn't occur to him until much later: the light was physically painful for Garrett and he had effectively blocked out everything.

"I'd like you to sit up, if you can. Do you need help with that?"

It was difficult to read his emotions with so much of his face obscured but Garrett turned onto his back and eased toward the edge of the bed.

"Thank you," Artemus told him. "When you are ready..."

Garrett rolled sharply onto his side, retched once, twice, and then vomited down the side of the bed.

Ah. That would explain it.

He coaxed Garrett up to a sitting position, or as much of one as possible with the thief bent nearly double. He was still trembling. Artemus placed a hesitant hand on his back, pulled away, and finally thought that this was the least of his betrayals before gently rubbing circles into the space between his shoulder blades. Garrett made a small snuffling noise--Artemus pulled his own robes back in case of further nausea--and coughed violently.

"In a few hours the Interpreter will read from the prophecies." Garrett raised his head slightly, just enough for Artemus to see his confusion. Artemus replaced the cloak around his shoulders. "That was your deal, remember? You brought the artifacts to us and in exchange you will be allowed to hear the prophecies as they are read."

Garrett bowed his head again, and Artemus pulled the hood up over him.

"It is unfortunate that you seized so soon before the reading but it will continue as usual."

Ordinarily Garrett would have some cutting response--something about keepers doing as they pleased, especially when it was Garrett holding the bag--but he did not answer. The thief was still shaking.

"We have..." Artemus unthinkingly looked around the room for a clock that did not exist. "I will need to check the time but it will be fairly soon. Will you be able to walk as far as the forbidden library with assistance?"

Nothing.

"Try. At least as far as the desk so that the bed can be cleaned."

He wrapped an arm around Garrett, holding his shoulder firmly with one hand as he held Garrett's arm in the other. Though his back protested Artemus heaved him upright. Now Garrett spoke, a mumbling whisper too slurred to be understood. "I didn't catch that, Garrett."

"Why?"

"I don't understand. Because you were sick?"

Garrett shook his head. His face was fully hidden now by the hood. He still trembled as if he weren't aware of it, and before they had taken two steps his legs folded beneath him. Conscious or no, he was still very disoriented and there was no possibility Artemus could get him standing alone.

"Stay here a moment while I get some assistance. Garrett? Did you hear what I said?"

"Stay," came the mumbled response.

"Yes. Thank you. I will be back shortly."

He found an acolyte on his way in, bringing the noonmeal, whom he sent to help Garrett, and another not far away mopping the floor. It was something of a stroke of luck.

But perhaps not too much luck, he thought. If noonmeal was at hand then there wasn't much time to get Garrett up and alert. Artemus acknowledged the anger at Orland that burned in him and let it go. It was for convenience that he went through Orland's passage to the compound, not spite.

When he returned Garrett was standing, leaning slightly against the desk. His hood was still pulled low.

"Here." He uncorked the potion he'd fetched and physically pushed Garrett's hands around it. "Do you think you can keep this down?"

Garrett looked down at his hands for a moment. He shook his head.

"Alright." Artemus gestured for the acolyte, who was just finished cleaning the vomit, to help him get Garrett moving. "The Interpreter is waiting."

And Garrett, half-walking and half-carried, said nothing at all. He would be lucky to even remember being in the forbidden library, let alone process the prophecies. He would feel justifiably betrayed. They would lose what little trust Garrett had in them. And that prospect was painful, even more painful than the complete lack of resistance he had put up since the seizure.

By the time they reached Caduca's office Garrett's full weight was on him. Artemus hadn't considered how much the stairs would take out of him.

This was hardly the trade they had promised, but it was Orland's decision. He kept telling himself that. Balance. Balance.

Garrett leaned against him as the prophecies were read, panting for breath and barely standing. His face was still hidden by the cloak but even the way he stood confirmed that he was not altogether there. It could have been any keeper beside Artemus. It could have been no one at all. All that remained of him seemed to be sound of his voice when he mumbled something unintelligible, like a sleeping man's mutterings. Caduca read as if she were unaware of it. Perhaps she was; she had not looked up since they had entered the room.

"Termanus embolia di annuin" she read.

_The Times Unwritten._

The Dark Age was coming, whether Garrett was cognizant of it or not. How little he'd understood of the previous ages, yet with the slightest of guidance from the keepers he had fulfilled the prophecies. Whether or not he would remember this would not determine his effectiveness.

And yet Artemus felt... a sadness, or something like it. They were squandering the little faith Garrett had in them. He would not hear a word of the prophecies. How could he, when he wasn't even himself?

Or perhaps he was. When Caduca finished Artemus thanked her, but he heard Garrett mumble softly, "Clear as mud."

Artemus smiled to hear it. That, he thought, was an incredibly Garrett thing to do.


End file.
